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... And there was a high wall, ugly and bad ..

and discovered that there is a wall of the fifteenth mile. Is there

precision between the fourteenth and the sixteenth and I got in full.

What happened?

Perhaps the strict diet consisting of carbohydrates hopped sports and noble proteins bagged the previous days?

Perhaps, if Jupiter pluvio c'annegava not a race a bit 'longer 10 km ce la dovevo mettere in settimana?

Forse il mal di testa e la nausea del sabato (postumi del venerdi sera)?

Peccato, perché la gara di domenica era proprio perfetta, ero io quella sbagliata, quella che “non è che una mattina ti svegli e ti vai a fare 21 km, tanto che sarà mai…ne hai già fatte tante”.

Non mi sembrava vero che, dopo sette giorni di pioggia, si vedessero il sole ed il cielo.

Guanti e pettorale ben allacciato sono partita cauta e concentrata, passo tranquillo.

Già dopo 10 minuti avevo una sete da turista disperso nel Sahara, il primo ristoro mi è sembrato un’oasi di felicità: water, tea, even oranges ..

fact, broken, I had become convinced that she felt a new energy that was missing at the start of everything.

Then we entered the pine forest, which of course was very pleasant to run: gone are the first 10 km in 55 minutes.

At one point, from inside the pine forest, I started to feel a familiar smell, something that I knew I had already heard, but now it seemed completely out of place.

Turn the curve that appears here is the sea, the sea breeze comes to us straight on the right side and I realize: I heard was the usual smell of diesel, which is brackish in ports.

back on the road, I notice that my legs still do their homework and I'm almost surprised.

Km 15: End of fuel, total hopelessness and pessimism, because there are still 6 km and do not really know where to go and get some 'strength to do it.

How not to end as I can, but in two hours four minutes and so many seconds.

I should check but I believe that this provision should now lead the hit parade of "worst half marathons successful."

propio Now why this is happened, I just asked to be listed at half Civitanova Marche marathon on Sunday ...

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Sunday was like the good old days, when we saw at 7 in the bar, were two of us without any hurry to go home for lunch, because we do not expect anyone.

So after all this time John and I left for Monte San Giusto, fairly close to home a race by 10 kilometers and a half, a noncompetitive, but very well attended.

completely flat, a reasonable distance, so it may be worth getting up early on Sunday, not too long because it is also John, who now trains with no fear but then when it runs at 4'30''.

Here at Monte San Giusto we had been at the dawn of my short career Running. I remember some details: how I was dressed (shirt and green pants blacks), a big laugh in front of an old Volkswagen branded "Trans del Piceno" which has become a constant in all the races I did in the south of the roller, the jar jam-pound for all participants.

I do not remember quite how the race went, I remember just a nice gentleman, towards the end, while I certainly complain of fatigue, but with John, who did not want to slow down too much, tells me that I was getting on me well. It was the usual gallant runner liar and a bit 'marpione.

This year there were new for all the jam and the Trans Piceno, I was there and maybe I was better than a couple of years ago, because in the end, risking heart attack, a pair of I scaled the positions and I can boast of having defended a twelfth place.

Of course, I do not know how many women there were, certainly at least 15, because I have 3 outdated I, maybe we were a very few and twelfth place is a ridiculous position in .... However, since "everything is relative, as it is and if I think" I am delighted me.

Now I'm here I look at it rain for three days, no end in sight and I think ...

I think I'll go for Sunday valleys and pine forests in Ravenna to make 21.097 km and I will go alone ...

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I'll be diplomatic.

Since in the course of U.S. history we have witnessed acts of reckless fools, who have killed people of a certain social and political significance, not only in the United States itself, but throughout the world (Kennedy, ML King, Malcolm X, etc. ...): because someone does not shoot at Isiah Thomas?

(for technical and tactical details of the trade leave to spend a few days)

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Sunday morning

As has sought and has scraped the bottom of the web, for last Sunday did not seem that there was an alternative to the Half Marathon of Centobuchi within a hundred kilometers ...

All my sources, even unreliable, just me back Centobuchi.

A Centobuchi are already a couple of years ago, two identical laps, flat (apart from a subway), there's so many people and too stiff, there is a chip (which is very rare in races you are here), it runs between the Salaria and a kind of deserted industrial area .. in the middle of nowhere, lost in the endless plain with nothing to watch, apart from the white line centerline.

Depression. Do not go there.

accordance with the single reserve, hilly race solo, with the illusion that the lunch is browning in the oven and loud music.

Clothing curate pants and black long-sleeved shirt, red socks and stand the white jersey of the Carpi Marathon.

Party with the rise in anxiety, the muscles that seem to go on fire, burning his face, I must not look good.

But ... how do you feel strongly that the air enters the lungs, and has the smell of the damp earth, nothing to do with what I breathe when I run after work.

are again looking for things to do for next Sunday ....

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people who go ... people who come ... For Sunday ....

The good news from the race to Igea Marina is that I have recovered a running mate, John, after he had not Carpi stopped running altogether, just that I had abandoned to my fate.

Thus, in recent weeks for travel in Running Romagna, I ended up in the car with a runner with the syndrome of compulsive buying, and another that is a fine gourmet, the Big Mac fan and staunch supporter of food made in series, replicated the same in all parts of the world.

Nice people, but I started to feel a bit 'of nostalgia for old classmates.

Sunday however, John has taken the place of the palate and delicately with the maniac of shoopping we left for the Romagna.

And the beauty of the day was all here: to recover a running mate and hope that continues.

And then the race ... What about ...

I will be brief and clear ...

is always the same old story: out of shape and lazy, I look forward to spring.

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Scrivo perché sennò mi dimentico..
…perché sono indietro con le registrazioni…
…perché ho un foglio excel per il 2011 fatto a metà, una specie di bozza molto primitiva, con le caselle da sistemare, le colonne da nominare, i giorni e i mesi da inserire…e siamo già a febbraio.

In questo periodo bazzico la Romagna: dopo San Marino una simpatica signora riminese ci aveva detto di non farci scappare il Trofeo delle 5 ville a Bertinoro e così domenica scorsa sveglia alle 6, gambe in spalla imbocco di nuovo l’A14, con due compagni di viaggio di cui potrei narrare le gesta, ma mi trattengo (caso never read).

Bertinoro is a nice place, a hill overlooking the plain, only to get from parking to the square to collect the number was from my coming out of breath.
At the start I find myself dangerously near the front row, because, by mistake during heating, we ended up in front of the starting line: Can not go up the block of people, we can only hope not to die squashed.

The start is very fast, everyone goes down like lightning, here and there but since I had heard tale of the legendary climbs in the middle then, I decide not to take it from me enthusiasm. Before

villa: a bit 'clogging in the woods.

Resume asphalt: is starting to get hot, we're almost at the fifth km, I would have some desire, but unfortunately I see the rest is made with hot chocolate ... shoot straight disconsolate and thirsty. Remedy
a glass of tea after a vertical salitone takes us into the second house and between the barrels in a cellar with walls covered with bottles, enough to make me hope for a good glass of sangiovese at the restaurant ... I'm beginning to feel

fatigue and I worry because there are still three villas at the finish: short wheelbase and look down.

The view from afar, the tower of the country is not very comforting, but step by step all over you (says the sage), then prendo la rincorsa per gli ultimi 200 metri di salita, tentando un arrivo trionfale…che però viene bruscamente stoppato da un addetto alla corsa: c’è da fare la coda per tagliare il traguardo (tempo d’attesa circa 10 minuti circa!!).
Per me la gara è finita in 1 ora e 13 minuti, per il cronometro ufficiale 1 ora e 22 minuti…

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E così sono sopravvissuta anche alla Maratonina di Natale fuori stagione a San Marino, nonostante l’autista abbia mancato alla grande l’uscita dell’autostrada and that, thanks to this, we soon lost, despite the cold, despite the inflatable is deflated and the inglorious departure, although mostly in the legs had a 10-mile.

In fact, after following the advice of fellow students for a cautious start, this did not help to prevent more or less decided on the twelfth km legs for a general strike.

Since there was not so bad, I thought the toughest climbs and long had passed, I was so convinced that climbing is due to come out of a downhill strength proportionate.

eighth seemed km to stand on the roof of the world lay in front of Mount Titano, very Christmas season, all sprinkled with white, with its towers and its profile "medieval" was a feast for the eyes, even if difficult to enjoy while vented as transandino a train.

Then a nice downhill, long, half it was hard to govern the legs, then another climb, but in the middle of this holy man with a flag in hand and a fluorescent yellow vest (think of an angel Providence), to the great relief of all, we had made a detour to a park, to the great relief of the legs. Here I am in tenth

km: Undertake excessive speed! I I almost picked up a chick that was over a mile before ... they were clearly the last moments before the collapse of vitality.

Twelfth km: dead, over ... even the plain seems to climb. Fortunately, there are only three kilometers.

1 hour and 29 minutes of effort ...

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I do not run because it is cold ..

I do not run because it rains, snows, maybe not even .. Then I run less

and unless I can run ... But

thing: I do not run tonight because, finally, after 5 months where I let them do what they wanted, tonight I am going to cut my hair ..

I can not send immediately to escort these two measures of shampoo, scissor kick those three forked at the tips, those four passes and dryer plate, the final spraying of lacquer.

Sunday however, by which time the humidity of recent days has again ruffled the entire head of hair, I can, without guilt, then going to suffer the Christmas Marathon in San Marino, unless it snows and that they should postpone again.

I have a great hair and legs ... very painful!

follow guide.

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Who runs the first of the year ..

Who runs the first of the year .... how is that at midnight on December 31 eat lentils: The official version is that he does not believe in these things, but since you never know, a chance it to him. So I
also the first year, with new shoes, a John recovered and the usual good intentions, I did the first race of 2011.
One gray afternoon, a rush town, a few zombies around.

Then nothing.

Instead of the Marathon of the Magi on January 6, I had a day to combat with fever and headache, consuming square feet of paper towels.
With the fever I had won the battle after a couple of days poor, with a cold began a long war of position: he attacked with a copious production of substances greenish, I tried to keep the airway clear.

run course he's absolutely not spoken.

Then today, after the enemy does not hear from a couple of days, the second race of the year: 10 km, in the fog, after work, as usual in the darkness of the industrial zone, with the ' air that seemed to burn as he entered the lungs and legs in the end were really heavy. In short, a

2011 that for now I smell a lot of 2010 ...